


Like Matty

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: The Code (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, because Abe sure does, daisy finally talked me into publishing this, remember that PI?, somehow they're both comforting each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26809051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: “Gold Honda.”He says it again as they merge onto the exit ramp, and she wonders why there are so many gold Hondas on the road tonight.“Gold Honda.”They make a right. He says it again. Then another right, and another, and he says it twice more, and Maya’s had enough.Abe struggles to get past the lasting effects of the PI, and it drives a wedge between him and Maya
Relationships: John "Abe" Abraham/Maya Dobbins
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	Like Matty

**Author's Note:**

> I'm BACK! It has been a _minute_ since I was in this sandbox, but Daisy made a very compelling point earlier today about why I should publish this (("you should publish it," in case you were wondering)) so here we are.

“Gold Honda.” 

The first time Abe says it, Maya thinks he’s just getting ready to make a lane change. They’ve had a long night at work, and sometimes he narrates to himself when he’s tired, so she doesn’t think anything of it. 

“Gold Honda.” 

He says it again as they merge onto the exit ramp, and she wonders why there are so many gold Hondas on the road tonight. 

“Gold Honda.” 

They make a right. He says it again. Then another right, and another, and he says it twice more, and Maya’s had enough. 

“Abe. What gold Honda?” She pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to hide her frustration. 

“The one behind us.” 

* * *

It’s been happening more and more lately, Abe thinking they’re being followed. Usually they’re driving somewhere, and she’s noticed that it’s worse late at night. But one time they were able to take an actual lunch break and wound up at the mall food court. Abe paid for her pretzel, but almost as soon as they’d sat down, he was standing back up and dragging her in and out of storefronts, trying to make sure they didn’t have a tail. 

Maya’s been very patient with him, really. She knows their jobs carry some occupational hazards, many of which extend beyond physical safety. So she’s willing to let Abe circle the block a couple of times before he parks in front of her building, or call out the cars behind them on the road. Occasionally, she’ll ask him if he really thinks he’s interesting enough to have paparazzi, but most nights she lets him do what he needs to do to feel safe in his own mind. 

(She’d never admit it, but the gentle cadence of his voice is rapidly becoming one of her favorite sounds in the world, and she’s never had a problem catching a quick nap in the car). 

But they’ve already had a 15-hour workday, and they missed lunch thanks to a delayed hop out of DC, and Abe is supposed to be driving toward their favorite takeout place then back to his house for a quiet evening. Instead, he’s gotten off the highway and right back on going the other direction, then back off two exits down, and now he’s driving figure-8s around downtown, trying to decide if the gray Acura behind them is a threat or not. 

“Is it still back there, My?” She fights back an eye roll and glances in the mirror. 

“No. Have you ever considered that there might be more than one gray Acura in this city?” 

“It’s gone? Good.” He ignores the question. “Back on track.” 

He makes a right. Then another, and a third, and Maya sucks in a deep breath. 

“For the love of _God,_ John! Would you cut it out? I swear, you’re acting just like -” 

She cuts herself off. 

“What? What am I acting like? Like I’m looking out for us? Like I don’t want anyone finding out where we live?” His voice is half a step too loud, and harsher than Maya can ever remember hearing, especially outside the courtroom. She stares out the window, silent, until she knows she can’t take the words back, even if she’s only thought them to herself. 

“Matty,” she whispers to her own faint reflection in the glass. “You’re acting just like Matty.” 

* * *

“You’re acting just like Matty.” 

It’s all Abe can do to keep control of the car as the power of Maya’s words hit him. As soon as he can, he pulls over and tips his forehead against the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding the horn. 

He takes three deep breaths, then sits back up, lifting his face to stare at the roof of his SUV. 

He doesn‘t know what he should say. 

He knows what he wants to say. He wants to say _yeah, but I’m right, I’ve actually bee_ _n_ _followed before_ and _but I’m not crazy_ and _I know what I’m doing_ and _that’s why I'm not like Matt, he has no idea what he’s doing._

But he knows he can’t say any of those things. There’s no way he can defend himself, not without attacking Maya’s brother, and he knows he can’t do that. It’s not Matt’s fault, what happens in his brain, and Maya’s fiercely protective of him. He can picture the look on her face, even if he can’t bear to look at her, and he hates himself for putting it there. 

He hates that he’s made her feel the way Matt’s made her feel in the past. Right now, she’s scared for him, scared of what his future will look like, of what happens next time he takes cold medicine instead of his antipsychotic. But she used to be scared _of_ him, scared of him knocking on her bedroom door to tell her that the Navy was watching him, of the day he decided that she wasn’t on his side anymore. She's told Abe just enough about her college years, when Matt was undiagnosed and almost uncontrollable in his panic and suspicion, that he knows what she’s capable of withstanding. 

She shouldn’t have to, though. She shouldn’t have to deal with all of that a second time. Not when it comes to him. 

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that people are watching him. Even though they’ve been stopped here for several minutes, and the gray Acura is gone, he’s constantly waiting for the next car or bicycle or pedestrian to take its place. He’s been followed once before; who’s to say it won’t happen again? 

He’s a Marine, he has to stay vigilant. 

But he can’t say that either. 

There’s nothing he _can_ say, nothing that will make this better, and he knows that. He can feel Maya’s stare, though, and he knows he has to say something. So he takes another deep breath and makes himself look at her when he finally speaks, hardly audible. 

“Matt?” 

“Yeah.” Her eyes are filled with … something, he’s not sure what. Not tears, and not pity, but there’s something there that he’s not used to seeing written across Maya’s face. “This … this _paranoia,_ always thinking someone’s after you, out to get you. It’s … Matt did that too. _Does_ this, when he’s not taking care of himself. He can't help it, I know, and I’d never hold it against him, but-” 

“But I can help it?” Abe cuts her off, trying and failing to keep the defensive edge out of his voice. “I’m choosing this? I wanted to have a PI follow me for a week, and I want to keep seeing more of them everywhere I go? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“I never said that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say that I’d never hold it against him, but I can’t stand watching him fall apart because he doesn’t do what he needs to. If he keeps on top of it, it’s almost like he’s … normal. But he has to actively work to feel that way; it doesn’t come naturally to him. You can work at it too, Abe. _We_ can work at it.” She hesitates. “Can’t we?” 

The silence falls back over them, lasting long enough that Maya starts to worry she’s pushed him too far. Just as she’s trying to figure out what she can say to backtrack, to apologize for making him feel like she thought this was intentional, he sighs heavily, pushing every last bit of air from his lungs before he speaks. 

“I- I don’t know. I’ve _been_ working on it. I tell myself it’s just a car, they’re just going the same direction I am, it doesn’t have to mean anything. But then I’m driving in circles anyway, waiting to see who’s behind me and for how long. It’s not something I try to do, My, I promise.” 

“I know. I know it’s not. What if you don’t listen to the part of you that wants to drive in circles?” 

“It doesn’t work like that. If I’m being followed, I have to get away from that. If not, worst case scenario it’s a little extra gas in the car.” 

“No, Abe. Worst case scenario, you add another half hour to our commute home and we _still_ haven’t gotten anything to eat.” She smiles softly, but tries to make her voice stern enough that he knows she’s still worried about him. 

“Shit, sorry.” Abe looks up at her, embarrassment written clearly across his face. “Finish this at home? I think … I should be good now. It’s not usually more than once a night.” 

“Finish this at home.” She agrees and reaches over to take his hand once the car is back in gear. “You know I’m not trying to call you out or anything, right? I just … I hate to see you hurting like this.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He presses a soft kiss to her knuckles as he merges back onto the highway, and the rest of the ride passes in silence, save for a quick stop to pick up the takeout. 

* * *

In fact, the silence continues until Abe’s picked through almost half of his mushroom chicken. Only then does he look up and nudge Maya’s foot with his own from across the couch. 

“Hey, stop worrying so loud. I’ll work things out in my head. We’ll get there, I promise.” 

“I’m not worried about that, Abe. We’ll be fine, I know. I’m just … I hate seeing you hurting like this. It’s the hardest thing in the world, watching someone you lo—care about struggle and knowing nothing you do will help. I …" she meets his gaze and he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes. “How can I help you?” 

“I don’t know.” Abe sighs, then leans forward to put his takeout carton on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what’s going on, but if … if I don’t listen to the part of me that says I’m being followed, it won’t go away. And I _know,_ I know it’s not true , but I can’t stop thinking about what if it is, and if it’s happening and I don’t do something about it, then I’m just _letting_ it happen to myself and --” He cuts himself off. “What did you do for … t-to help Matt?” 

“Honestly, Abe? I have no idea. I know I helped him. He’s said I’ve helped him. But _how_? I don’t know. It’s not like I found an article online called ‘help, my brother is paranoid, what do I do?’ I just … tried. Reminded him that the voices were lying, kept him from hurting himself as much as I could, stayed up through the night a couple of times so he wasn’t all alone … anything ringing a bell for you?” 

“I’m … I don’t want to hurt myself. That's not … I’m not hurting myself.” He shakes his head furiously. “It- all of this is me trying to _keep_ myself from getting hurt. I know-” Abe takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. “I know I’m not being followed. Rationally, I get that. But if … if I were _wrong,_ if something happened to the people I care about because I wasn’t careful enough … Maya, I’d never be able to forgive myself.” 

She nods, leaning forward slowly to take the paper carton out of his hands. Once the food is on the table, she turns back and pulls his hands into her own. 

“Abe.” He looks up, but won’t meet her gaze. “If something happens – and that’s an _if_ _–_ then we will work through it. The world isn’t out to get you, I promise.” 

“Feels like it is sometimes.” 

“I know.” She squeezes his fingers, lets him feel her presence grounding him., the speaks again as she gets an idea. “What if you fall back?” 

“Huh?” He brings himself to meet her gaze, stares at her while he tries to figure out what she’s suggesting. 

“Next time you think you’re being followed, what if you fall back? Slow down, maybe change lanes, see if they stay behind you? A PI would stay on your tail, right?” 

“Yeah, maybe …" Abe squeezes her hands, but he looks like he’s genuinely considering her idea. “I don’t know. What if they stay behind me?” 

“Then you call me, or Trey or Harper or anybody else. Tell us what kind of car it is, we’ll figure out a plan? You can get off the road, go drive in circles until you feel better, or I can talk to you, whatever helps, Abe, at least in the meantime.” 

Maya takes a deep breath, knowing that what she’s going to say next is a bit of a risk, especially when it comes to keeping Abe comfortable talking to her about things that are bothering him. 

“And maybe, see if there’s someone else you can talk to? I know VA resources aren’t always great, but there’s people there who’ve gone through this too, Abe.” 

He bristles at that, and she feels his fingers twitch. 

“What, who’ve been trailed by private investigators when they try to sue the Marine Corps and carry on a secret relationship with their dead best friend’s widow? If there’s a support group that specific, sign me up.” 

“Maybe not exactly that,” She runs her thumbs across the backs of his hands and tries again. “But they know what it’s like not to be able to let go of a thought, even when you know it’s not true. Or you can talk to someone one-on-one and-” 

“I don’t need-” He tries to cut her off, but Maya keeps talking. 

“You don’t have to. But we can at least look into it, see if there’s something you think might help? I know Matt did a lot better when he realized there were other people out there on his same wavelength.” 

She hates to use that card again, especially since it’s a deliberate maneuver this time, but he did ask what things helped Matt, and Maya is tired of watching him struggle against the thoughts in his own head. 

“We?” His voice is softer now, less argumentative, and she can feel his resolve weakening. 

“We. I’ll help you with it, Abe. Whatever you need, if you want someone to go with you, or look at websites, anything, just say the word, OK? That’s what being in a relationship with someone means: helping you take care of the things you shouldn’t have to shoulder by yourself.” 

He nods subtly and she smiles. 

“Good. I care about you, y’know. Even if I can still smear your ass across a courtroom.” 

“If you win, it’s because your client was right, and we both know it.” He rolls his eyes, but for the first time since they left the office, he’s smiling at her. “It’s why Trey can’t stand me. I fight for the right team, and it changes every day.” He lets go of her hands to pick his food up and finish eating, but this time he’s devouring it like he hasn’t eaten all day. 

“Shut up, Trey loves you.” Maya swats his arm. “He just can’t stand losing to you.” 

They return to their usual banter while Abe finishes eating, then bicker over the state of affairs during the evening news. At some point, Maya ends up stretched out across the couch, her feet in Abe’s lap. He tosses a blanket over them, knowing that her toes will get cold if he doesn’t, and rests a hand on her ankle. 

When her yawns go from tiny (Abe called them “kitten-like” one time, but immediately had to ask the Colonel if being kicked in the shin counted as assault in the workplace) to jaw-cracking, he squeezes her ankle, then slides out from underneath her legs and offers his hand. 

“Bed?” 

“Mhmm,” it comes out through another yawn, as she takes his hand and lets Abe help her to her feet. When they’re both standing, he leans forward and kisses her softly. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him for a moment. “For being patient with me. I know I’m not always easy to deal with.” 

“No one is.” She rests her head on his shoulder, then leans back up. “C’mon, you promised me a bed. And so you know, I’m stealing one of your shirts.” 

“Aren’t they all just mutual property by now, Dobbins?” He laughs and steps back. “You go get comfy. I’m going to check the locks one last time.” 

Abe hesitates until she nods, hoping it doesn’t come across as paranoid. 

But that’s not a new habit, and almost every Marine she’s ever known has had a complex about checking the locks again right before bed. Some things are just caution, and Maya knows that there’s a line between the two. 

So she lets him turn away, follows him toward the front door but turns down the hallway instead, and borrows a pair of his sweatpants too. 

_This, they can work with,_ she thinks as she slides underneath his comforter. _As long as they work together, they can work with this._


End file.
